


Site B

by commodorecliche



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 19 year old!jean, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Dinosaurs, Alternate Universe - Jurassic Park, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dinosaurs, M/M, Secret Santa, paleontologist!marco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5513582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commodorecliche/pseuds/commodorecliche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Marco is a paleontologist who sets out to help retrieve 19 year old Jean after a wake boarding trip leaves him stranded on the Jurassic Park, Site B, island of Isla Sorna.</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Site B

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Android18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Android18/gifts).



> I kind of really ran with the original prompt, cause it was such a fun premise to work with. I really hope you enjoy this, android18, and that this was sort of what you were hoping for! 
> 
> (Also, for the sake of slight historical accuracy, I did change "velociraptor" to the name of the dinosaur the film!velociraptor was modeled after, the [Deinonychus](http://cdn.dinosaur-world.com/feathered_dinosaurs/species/deinonychus_antirrhopus.gif?rewrite=true).)

 

It’s not often, but every once in awhile, certain things make Marco want to regret his career choice.

He certainly _sounds_ like he has a glamorous and amazing job, especially at such a young age. Tell anyone you’re one of the youngest paleontologists, specializing in paleobiology and behavior of carnivorous species of the Cretaceous and Jurassic periods, and you’ll be met with wide, gleaming eyes and enthusiastic inquiries about your work. But the truth is that nine times out of ten, his job involves backbreaking physical labor under a scorching hot sun in the desert, digging up old-ass bones from creatures who couldn’t give two shits about Marco’s own personal comfort.

Actually, he’s exaggerating: the reality is, it’s rare to find things that even resemble a properly formed bone. Most of his days are spent slaving away for _fragments_ of bones that might hopefully, maybe be arranged later to form a small part of a long-dead dino.

But that was before. As of late, his job has been a little different, and he’s gotta be honest, it’s certainly made him reevaluate his entire profession.

Ever since InGen had first started up their research and development, and had approached him as a consultant, his career had taken a new, revitalized path. A much… _livelier_ path, to say the least. New technologies, new areas of study, and the ability to actually _research_ the animals he had once dug up as nothing more than broken bones. It had taken a little while to sink in when Hammond had first approached him. It’s not like anything can actually prepare you to see a living, breathing dinosaur standing in front of you, or at least, a creature as close to a dinosaur as modern science can create.

Marco remembers how full of awe he was when he first saw them, how shocked, how speechless, how utterly mind-boggled he had become. But the amazement had shifted quickly into disbelief, followed by pure, unadulterated scientific curiosity. And after some persistent “discussion” with John Hammond, he got the old man to agree to letting him and his partners conduct research on the animals on the second island.

A paleobiologist and two paleobotanists on board with the project, Marco, Sasha, and Connie had been given the chance of a lifetime, not just for their careers. They’d been given the chance to sate their almost child-like urge for more knowledge about creatures, plants, and ecosystems they could never have dreamt of seeing in the flesh. But then again, work is work, and no matter how exciting, how groundbreaking, or how riveting the job can be, some things certainly don’t change.

The work ain’t easy - if anything it’s harder. It’s still backbreaking labor, that’s for sure, and while it might not be in the desert heat, the rainforest heat isn’t exactly a huge improvement. If anything, it’s almost worse - it’s overbearing and stifling in ways that he never thought heat could be. If he’s not out in the field gathering samples, monitoring behavior, and traipsing about a disgusting jungle, then he’s back in a cramped up RV with AC that does it’s very best to combat the outside temperatures. It’s all a little bit taxing and exhausting and there are times when he prays for the comfort of sleep. Not to mention the fact that this is a hell of a lot more dangerous than sanding down rock and dust with a toothbrush.

For the most part, the animals he observes are fairly nonthreatening. Sure, they’re a big big and bumbling, and not all that caring about whatever they might squish beneath their feet, but they aren’t overly aggressive. They’re like souped-up horses, Connie had tried to tell him. Plus, all in all, their interaction with the actual wildlife is limited. He’s here to observe and notate, not to directly interact (although a certain amount of interaction is to be expected… the mere act of studying something even in its natural habitat is interference in and of itself). But this island is a complete ecosystem and predators exist and thrive on it too. No ecosystem can sustain itself without every appropriate tier, and it’s that functionality of the system that he wants to observe.

All that being said, he considers himself to be fairly safe on the island. Their ‘facility’ is top of the line too, at least as far as protection is concerned. While it might not be the most luxurious of abodes, their base camp is more than adequate for their needs for research, observation, and safety.

They’re settled down along the coast in a camp. They’ve got two RVs for research - each equipped with a mobile lab, communication radios, and plenty of supplies - and two other RVs for their moderately comfortable sleeping arrangements. Around their makeshift home base, InGen had made sure to erect a tall and sturdy wall, complete with large, titanium mechanical gates. The barrier crests around their camp and extends out into the surf a ways, just as an added precaution in case some of the larger, less-friendly critters ever decides to try and pay them a visit. That, in and of itself, is fairly unlikely. The apex predators tend to stick towards the heart of the island from what he’s observed so far: there’s more game for them, and more places for them to safely settle and rest than on the coast. Plus, given the fact that they’ve got a boat to speed them back to the main island or back over to Costa Rica, Marco doesn’t doubt that they would easily be able to leave the island in a hurry if it ever came down to it.

Not to mention, with just the three of them here, Marco is granted plenty of time to himself when and if he wants it. All in all, despite the taxing physical work and the contemptible heat, their day to day life is fairly simple and easy. Marco likes it that way.

But he’s getting off topic, really. Back to his original thought: at this point in his career, despite the work, there isn’t a lot to make him question his career choice, or his insistence to come on this island. But honestly, holding a specimen cup that’s filled to the brim with what Marco will politely call “waste” is one of the things that fills him with a lot of regret.

Once inside the lab trailer, Marco yanks his hat off of his head and unties the sweat-drenched bandana from around his head, his hair dangling floppily down over his eyes. He had spent most of the day trailing after a Stegosaurus who had been exhibiting some odd behavior all so he could get a waste sample from her to test for possible pathogens. Not exactly the most enjoyable use of his time. Certainly not one of the better smelling tasks either. Thank god the RVs have showers.

Marco sets the cup down on the table and settles down into the chair at the desk, reveling in his first real moment of relaxation of the day. Groaning, he side-eyes the cup. He really, _really_ doesn’t want to have to handle that damn thing right now. And you know what, he thinks to himself, he’s not going to. He can afford to forget about it for a little while.

Connie and Sasha had taken the boat back to the mainland for another supply run. Odds are the two of them won’t be back for at least another hour, so Marco figures he’s allowed to make the executive decision of “deal with a cup of shit” or “don’t deal with a cup of shit”, and frankly, he is more than ready to not deal with shit. An hour’s relaxation won’t kill him.

And so, without another thought, he grabs the specimen cup as he stands and stows it in the sample fridge, and eyes the mini-couch on the other side of the RV. He snatches a paper towel from by the sink and wipes his forehead and arms off once more, wiping away the grime and remnants of sweat that his bandana hadn’t caught. He meanders over to the couch and reclines down onto the cushions with a groan, sweet relief soaking in through his muscles. He drapes an arm over his eyes and exhales slowly.

Just an hour, that’s all he needs.

**::**

All in all, Jean’s not that much of an adventurer. He likes to travel, don’t get him wrong, but he’s never really been one for weird sorts of adventures or intrepid shenanigans. When he travels, he prefers to recline on the beach or to get drunk by a fire, not to bungee jump or parasail or whatever other weird, stupid things adventurers like to do. With that in mind, in hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best decision he’s ever made to agree to travel with Reiner and Bertholdt to Reiner’s family house in Costa Rica.

Reiner and Bertholdt - the dynamic duo of thrill-seeking - both come from the kind of families who have too much money, and are ridiculously laid back about how they spend it. But even so, it took Jean a little by surprise when Reiner told him that he and Bert were going to head down to Costa Rica to hang with Reiner’s family and that there’s a seat saved for Jean on the plane with them if he felt like coming along. It’s not like Jean could say no, despite the fact that he knew he’d probably get dragged into all sorts of nonsense during the trip.

And nonsense there’s been. So far, his friends have made him partake in jet skiing, parasailing, and god, even hang gliding, and it would seem that today is yet another day where Jean’s wishes to relax on the beach with a beer will go unheeded. Instead, here he is on the mansion’s dock, loading up the boat with the Batshit Boyfriends to go wakeboarding, all while silently hoping to god they’ll just let him sit in the boat to tan and get drunk.

Reiner pilots their boat towards the open ocean because _“There’s an awesome island chain a little ways off the coast, perfect for boarding_ ”, and Jean just hopes it’ll take a while before the blonde decides he wants to stop. And so, as the boat jets off away from the shore and towards the horizon, Jean lets himself relax. He reclines a bit down into his seat, sprawling his body out beneath the sun, sliding his sunglasses down from on top of his head to his eyes, and smiles. The music blares, the tunes just barely making it over the sound of the rushing of the wind past his ears. He closes his eyes, letting his body move as the boat skims across the wakeful surface of the water. Salty air, hot breeze, hotter sun, he loves this.

The three of them ride around for a good 45 minutes before the once distant islands begin to close in, and Bertholdt already seems excited.

Reiner slows their speed and pulls in closer to the island’s beach, still saying a ways off shore. As they slow and halt, Jean lifts his sunglasses from his eyes and realizes quickly why Reiner probably likes this place. The area is _beautiful_ , water a clearer blue than on the mainland, the island lush and green… The water seems perfect for boarding, and even better, there’s no other boat traffic _anywhere_ in the area. For a moment, Jean starts to wonder why, exactly, because such a perfect spot should honestly be teeming with tourists, but he forgets his questions almost as quickly as they had come to him as Reiner begins to board up, telling Bertholdt to talk over at the helm for him.

“You can have a turn after Bertl and me, Jeany-Boy,” Reiner mouths to him with a wink. Jean can only scoff before lowering his sunglasses back down over his eyes. As if.

Once Reiner’s in the water, board strapped to his feet, rope handle in his grip, Bertholdt calls to him to affirm that he’s ready. He gets no more than an enthusiastic shout from abaft that Jean can only assume is Reiner’s way of saying “yes”. And Bertholdt doesn’t need another queue; with that, they’re off once again.

**::**

You know, it actually takes a good while before Reiner and Bertholdt attempt to coerce him into wakeboarding. Jean had expected it to only take about 20 minutes before getting harangued into the activity, when in reality it took about 40. Small victories, he supposes.

But the time has finally come when it would seem his protestations are not enough. Bert and Reiner have both boarded twice, and they’re now attempting to saddle Jean into the board and a life vest, despite the fact that he’s expressed that he really doesn’t give two shits about wakeboarding, and that he’d much rather be an immobile slug.

It’s not like he can even pretend he doesn’t know _how_ to wakeboard. Summer vacation last year saw the three of them in Myrtle Beach, with the two of them meticulously teaching Jean the ins and outs of the activity. So they’re more than aware of the fact that Jean knows how, and so with a melodramatic sigh, Jean agrees, straps himself up, and lowers down into the water insisting that he only wants to do it for a few minutes. (And even that’s being generous, since he honestly doesn’t feel like doing it at all…).

The boat starts moving, and honestly, he’s a little less prepared for it than he thought he would be. He’s a little rusty, and as the boat gains speed, it takes him a minute to find his balance but he still manages to hoist himself upright until eventually he’s skimming across the nigh-glassy surface of the water with ease. And yeah, okay, Jean will admit it, there’s a smile creeping its way onto his face, because he might like being an immobile slug most of the time, but he’s not so much of a stick in the mud that he doesn’t enjoy objectively fun things.

He boards for a while, though he's not entirely sure how long - time always seems to flow in unique ways during things like this, not fast, not slow, but not quite on time either - and his arms are starting to get a little tired. He releases the handle briefly to give a quick wave to his friends to let them know that he’s ready to call it quits, but he notes quickly that they aren’t quite paying attention to him. Instead, Reiner and Bertholdt are pointing ahead, and Reiner begins to direct the boat further onward to curve around to where the island’s coast seems to bend.

 _Ugh_ . _Just let me come in_ , Jean thinks to himself, feeling his muscles beginning to burn, and feeling a sudden need to apply more sunblock to his drenched skin, _once I’m in, we can explore, don’t pull this on me now_.

But his friends still don’t seem to notice, only flicking gazes back at him once in awhile, he supposes to make sure he’s at least still attached to the end of the rope. Considerate.

As they angle around the blind curve of the coast, Jean senses the problem perhaps an instant before his companions do, but at that point it’s too late to do much about it.

As the boat curves around the bend, they’re speeding into water much more shallow than they’d expected, the underside of the hull roughly colliding with rock and reef in a sickening screech of motor and metal. It happens so fast that Jean hardly has time to register anything before the rope has suddenly gone slack and he’s hitting the water _hard_.

From there, it’s nothing but the rush of water in his nose and mouth, his body aching, sounds becoming muffled and heady in his hears. His body hurts, lungs tight from not nearly enough air in them as his limbs flail and flounder in the water, his life vest hopefully hauling him up towards the surface.

It only takes a second, though it feels like an eternity, but when Jean breaches the surface he sucks the air in as quickly and deeply as he can. He sputters a bit, water attempting to makes its way into his body with each gulp of sweet, salted air he breathes. Jean’s eyes dart back and forth, immediately trying to assess the situation. He has no idea what exactly happened once the boat hit the rocks, all he knows is that he can see its broken hull bobbing about in the crystal blue waters. But that’s not what he wants to see - he needs to see his friends.

Jean sloshes around in the water, spinning himself around, eyes frantically scanning over the surface of the water for any signs of orange. He knows that both Reiner and Bertholdt had been wearing their life jackets, so they should be on the surface. It only takes a moment before he sees them, two bobbing blobs of orange floating some twenty yards away from Jean. With a deep breath he surges himself to them, swimming with as much power as his pained, tired body can manage.

He calls their names as he approaches, water splashing up into his mouth as he tries to do so and swim at the same time. Neither of them seem to react to his shouts, and as he approaches he realizes why. Reiner and Bertholdt might be at the surface, but they don’t appear conscious; instead, they bob in the water limply, life vests the only thing keeping their heads above the water.

Without thinking, Jean hooks his fingers in their vests, if only so he doesn’t let them float any further away from him. He cranes his head around snappishly, eyes looking frantically for the land. It stands like a fortress behind him, some thirty yards away. His heart pounds in his chest, lungs still trying to catch their breath from anxiety, exhaustion, the strain of treading water and holding onto his friends. He looks back at Reiner and Bertholdt…

Jean knows he needs to get them to shore, but does he honestly think he can haul the two of them in on his own? He can’t exactly drag them to the land one by one without risking one of them getting pulled out by the tides. Jean’s already fighting the tug of it frantically with his legs… leaving one of them to simply float would be death.

He doesn’t exactly have any other options… He’s got to try and swim them in.

With one hand gripping Reiner’s life vest and the other gripping Bertholdt’s, Jean figures the easiest thing to do would be to try and swim the three of them backwards towards the shore, getting as much propulsion as he can through the water with his legs. It only takes two kicks of his legs to realize that he’s in for a struggle.

Jean groans, breathing in as deeply as he can with each bob and kick. He’s fairly certain that he _is_ moving, though he feels like he’s barely making any progress at all. Reiner and Bertholdt are like deadweight, and if it weren’t for their life vests keeping them afloat, Jean isn’t sure he’d be able to do this at all.

There’s a moment when he thinks, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he hasn’t checked to see if Reiner and Bertholdt are even alive… A thought that tells him he could be literally dragging nothing but deadweight to the shore, breaking his back to drag corpses to “safety”... But he shakes his head, stomach churning at the mere thought of it.

They’re fine. They’re _fine_. And Jean’s going to get them to the goddamn shore. Help will come for them, they’ll get back to the mainland, and everything will be okay. He just has to get them to the damn beach.

And so he pushes on. Each kick is agony - there’s not enough air for his lungs and his muscles are weary and pained. And yet somehow, he progresses, each exhaustive thrust propelling the three of them closer to the beach until finally, Jean can feel his feet hitting the sandy ocean floor. He heaves a heavy breath, arms wrenching at his companions once more to drag them forward along with him.

Once he has more solid footing in the surf, Jean figures it’s safe enough to let go of one of them in favor of dragging the other up onto the beach. He decides fairly quickly to drag Reiner up onto the sands first. The blonde might be a bit shorter than his boyfriend, but Reiner is thick and full of solid muscle, and Jean would rather get him out of the way first. Bertholdt will be easier… Save the easier one for last.

Hesitantly, Jean relinquishes his grip on Bertholdt’s life vest, both hands taking hold of Reiner’s, and stands fully. The water comes about to his knees and he has just enough leverage to push himself up along the sands to drag Reiner with him.

He makes quick work of it, anxious to not only be finished with the task, but to get to Bertholdt before the tide has time to drag him further than Jean can reasonably reach. Jean settles for getting Reiner halfway on the beach, the surf still licking the blonde’s body with each ebb and flow, before he tears his life vest off his torso and sprints down as fast as he can through the water once more to grab ahold of Bertholdt.

Jean had hoped that perhaps as he was dragging them to safety, at least one of them might awaken, relief flooding their face at the realization that they were alive and well, but it doesn’t happen. No, instead, Jean is left sitting on the white, pristine sands of this island’s beach, wearing nothing but a thin t-shirt and swim trunks, waiting for his friends to wake. There had been a moment after he’d ensured that the three of them were up far enough and safe when Jean had hesitated to actually check his friends for signs of life. He’s not sure if it was because he was afraid of finding out that he’d lost his friends, or if it was the thought of possibly having to face this situation alone… But eventually, he’d given in, fingers hesitantly feeling for pulses, ear leaning against chests to listen for beats and breaths.

The relief that had flooded him when he’d first heard their heartbeats, felt their pulses, was indescribable.

They’re banged up a bit - cuts and bruises lining their flesh, much like Jean’s own - but at least he won’t be alone.

Now, all he has to do is figure out what to do now.

**::**

Jean had read somewhere that if someone is unconscious for more than an hour, it could be sign of serious injury. So, as the time continues to tick by with little sign of responsiveness from either of his companions, Jean steadily grows more and more uneasy. It’s definitely not good to be unconscious for this long if they’d suffered head injuries, but Jean doesn’t even know how badly they were hit, or if either of them sustained a head injury at all. But he knows that the longer he sits here immobile, the worse things get.

As an hour becomes two with no signs of help or any signs of human activity at all, Jean begins to grow anxious. With a sigh, he heaves himself to stand, hesitantly meandering away from the limp forms of his friends, looking around the beach and foliage for any signs of life. It’s mostly just greenery, as if humans hadn’t touched this place in ages.

Jean walks for a while, growing increasingly despondent as the true sense of isolation begins to settle over him. His only company thus far has been the sounds of the forest, just beyond the line of trees. It sounds alive and lush, like he imagines any dense forest would, full of sounds and noises he can’t quite place from animals he isn’t sure he’d recognize anyway. But it’s hardly the company of a human.

Why hasn’t he seen anyone? Why haven’t any boats gone by? He doesn’t have the answer, honestly. Surely Reiner’s parents at least know he’s out here… But just as soon as he thinks it, he remembers that they hadn’t talked to them this morning. With a heavy sigh, Jean turns back, slowly striding back in the direction of his friends.

But as he walks, something in his periphery in the foliage catches his eye. Jean pauses, stepping in closer to inspect it. There, in the underbrush, is a grown-over sign, caked in mossy green and hints of rust. Jean squints his eyes, brushing away some of the vines to get a better look at it.

In bold print, the sign reads “ **INGEN: RESTRICTED ACCESS.** ”

 _InGen_ …

Why does he know that name? He remembers it just vaguely, as if he’d heard it while absently watching the news. He just can’t place it.

Jean shakes his head. Regardless, the sign might be grown over a bit, but it doesn’t look that old, and the name itself feels recent in his mind. This could mean that help is nearby. Jean bites his lip, turning away to look back down the beach at his companions, and then up in the sky to look for the sun.

It’s about midday now. If there _is_ help or civilization to be found on this island, he’d have at least a few hours to find out before it gets dark. But that requires him not only to leave his friends alone, on their own, but to abandon to safety of the beach and make his way into a jungle that he’s just going to assume is dangerous.

But what other option does he have at this point?

**::**

Honestly, it’s not one of the best ideas he’s ever had… Jean’s not exactly well-versed in jungle survival, or with… survival at all really. But at this point, he’s pretty sure they’re out of options. They need help, and if help isn’t an option, then they need food, and more importantly, they need _water_.

He’d tried a few more times to rouse his friends, praying to whatever god or goddess might listen that one of them would wake up… But neither of them did. And so, he had scrawled a quick note in the sands to his friends in case they woke, hoping that it would be far enough away to avoid getting washed away by the tides, and set off towards the jungle (though not before commandeering Reiner’s shoes, figuring that wearing a half size too big was probably better than wearing no shoes at all).

**::**

It’s amazing how fast a canopy of trees can swallow the sunlight whole. Not a few yards into the dense forest, it feels almost as though he’s crossed into an entirely different time zone.

Jean can’t exactly say he’s calm about this whole ordeal. He’s never been much of a ‘forest’ kind of guy - not exactly great at dealing with bugs or strange animals… The darkness, the density, and just how utterly alien this place feels… Hell, the sounds alone are enough to drive anyone to madness.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been wandering around, but it’s already a hell of a lot longer than he would have preferred. If he’s honest, he’s ready to turn back, to attempt to find his way back to the beach to sit with his comatose friends and hope that help might come. So far, Jean’s found no signs of human life, no evidence that he might even be on the right path, and there are noises here he hopes to never find the source of.

Jean has to take care of how he steps - striding over logs, avoiding large divots in the ground, stepping across mud and slick rock, and a whole host of other obstacles that are doing nothing but tiring him out. He doesn’t like to admit it, but each step he takes is a little more frantic than the one before it, desperate to either be out of this place or to find someone who could help him. He feels like he’s losing light, losing time, and that this jungle is nothing but hostile to his presence. In the distance, Jean swears he can hear loud, rumbling thuds and cracking branches; close to him, there are clicks and hisses, grumbles and scurrying of creatures he just doesn’t want to think about. He does his best to chalk it up to his mind playing tricks on him.

He just has to stay calm.

**::**

Marco wakes with a jolt at the sound of his radio buzzing, staticky noise and a garbled voice sounding out in the silence of the RV. Groggily, he sits up off the minicouch and fumbles over towards the communications desk, snatching up the communicator ungracefully.

“This is Isla Sorna. Please repeat. Over.”

_“Freckles, this is Baldie speaking. Come in, Freckles. Over.”_

Marco sighs, and rubs his temple.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, what do you need, Connie? Over.”

Marco hears Connie’s garbled laugh over the intercom before he speaks again.

_“Sash and I are still on the mainland, did you have any extra supply requests? Over.”_

“Get me a damn cheeseburger. Over.”

_“Oh sure, anything else, princess? Maybe your own personal drive through? Over.”_

Marco chortles hard and shakes his head.

“I think I’m set here. Just get what we need, Con, that should do fine. Over.”

_“10-4, Freckles. Over and out.”_

Marco sets the receiver back on its cradle and leans back in his chair, allowing his muscles to stretch out. His body aches a bit - both relieved and exhausted from his brief nap. He rubs at his eyes and blearily looks over at the sample fridge. He pauses and thinks of the disgusting sample waiting for him just inside that fridge. Ugh.

He really should get back to work.

**::**

Jean doesn’t know why he thought he could just meander in a fucking _jungle_ and find help, but this was clearly an awful decision. So far, he hasn’t found help, all he’s found has been an ever-thickening underbrush, and the distinct feeling that he’s not alone.

It’s far too dark for his liking, and the noises of the jungle seem to follow him with every step. He wants to turn back - he _desperately_ wants to turn back and head back to the relative safety of the beach - but he honestly can’t tell which way is back…

He’s got to stop… Just for a moment. Jean stumbles ahead a bit further, fumbling a bit to find a sturdy log or something where he can just sit for a moment to collect himself. As soon as he finds one, he flops down heavily, body relieved to rest if only for a second. He breathes in deeply, reaching down to rub at the blisters that are forming in the spots where Reiner’s shoes rub hard against his feet.

This was a mistake, but unfortunately, it’s a mistake he has to live with. Jean assesses his surroundings once more - it’s all a mess of leaves and humidity and trees, and he can’t even begin to fathom what might be the right direction to walk in… Now that he’s sitting still, a small level of calm seems to have settled over the area. There’s still sounds of nature sounding out around him, but the thunderous sounds in the distance seem to have died down, and even the closer noises seem to have tamed. Jean’s grateful for the reprieve.

He’s not sure how long he sits there, but at some point during the minutes, the relative quiet that had settled around him breaks. From somewhere behind him, Jean’s thoughts are interrupted by the intrusive sound of a high pitched series of chirps and clicks.

He startles instantly at the noise, body lurching up off the log and looking around in the darkness of the canopy shade for whatever the source might be. At first, Jean sees nothing, but he can still goddamn hear it. Chirping and almost inquisitive, Jean stumbles away from the log he was sitting on as the noises persist. He’s ready to keep moving, to run away, until something rustles in the bushes. Jean steps back, eyes trained on the bushes with fierce anxiety building up in his chest.

He is in no way prepared for what comes out of the bush, and he jumps at the sight of it. It’s… small. Well, smaller than he thought it would be judging by the volume of the sounds it had made. The thing is goddamn birdlike, about the size of a chicken, but much trimmer, its body lean with muscle. It’s unlike anything Jean has ever seen. He wants to call it some sort of fucked up little bird, but even that label doesn’t seem right. All he knows it’s that it’s goddamn creepy, the way it stares at him with solid black beady eyes.

Jean takes a slow step away from it and the thing chirps, and two others emerge from the bush.

“Okay…” Jean whispers quietly in a poor attempt to calm himself as he dares another few steps back.

The things seem innocuous enough, chirpy and curious, but each step back he takes they make sure to advance one or two more steps on him, and that alone is making him unease.

“Okay,” He mumbles again, “Good uh… good birdies…”

From the bushes three or four others emerge, followed almost immediately by even more, and at this point, Jean’s lost count. And if he’s being honest, he absolutely doesn’t want to be near these things anymore. He steps backwards away from them with a bit more determination, now not as careful with his footing, but they advance on him in kind, chirping and calling softly in his direction.

Each little hop they take seems to put them closer to Jean than he can step away, until eventually, they’re advancing almost aggressively and Jean has had absolutely enough. When one of them lets out a chirp/growl that Jean can only assume is hostile, he doesn’t bother to stick around. Turning on one foot, he decides his best option is to sprint off in the opposite direction.

He doesn’t really have much of a plan besides “flee and hope the damn things don’t follow”, but the little beasts apparently don’t feel like following his plan. As soon as he turns to run, he’s barely made it three steps before they start to follow. The damn things are faster than the look and maybe one of them wouldn’t be able to hurt him, he’s pretty sure a horde of them could and he doesn’t want to stay to find out. He runs as fast as he can across the terrain, no idea of where exactly he plans to go, or even how long he can keep the pace up. His energy is already pretty tapped from traversing the area, and he wonders if his adrenaline alone will be enough to get him somewhere safe.

 _If ‘somewhere safe’ even exists on this fucking island_ , he thinks to himself.

His footing is fairly unsure as he sprints, the rough terrain not giving him any breaks as he darts away from the chirping little monstrosities behind him. He feels something sharp nip at his calf; it’s enough to make him yelp in pain, but not enough to make him stop.

Jean can feel himself growing tired, body steadily giving in to the exhaustion, adrenaline hardly enough to push him onward. Every now and then, a sharp sting of pain hits somewhere on his legs, and he’s sure the creepy little fuckers that are hot on his heels are the culprits. But despite the exhaustion and the pain, he presses forward if only because suddenly, just ahead, he can see the trees begin to clear a bit, and there seems to be a large, grey building in the middle of a cleared, open area.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Jean picks up his speed, feet in shoes that are just a little too big are doing their damn best to keep him stable across the rough terrain. He’s just got to make it to the building. He just hopes to god a door is open.

As Jean makes it to the line of trees, his feet stumble a bit beneath him, sending him crashing forward into the clearing. He catches himself roughly on his hands and flings his head back to look for the awful things that have been tailing him so closely so far. But to his surprise, he watches as they reach the edge of the clearing and stop, chirping frantically amongst themselves and refusing to step forward any further.

They pause for a moment before their calls begin to quiet down and they hesitantly begin to retreat back into the forest. Jean smiles a bit to himself, chuckling as he pushes himself up to stand, and watching as they all begin to scamper away.

Once he’s sure they’re gone, he takes a look around the clearing: it looks empty, aside from the compound ahead of him that stands tall and grey, monolithic in stark contrast to the otherwise lush and green environment around it. With a shuddered breath, he begins to trot towards the building. It isn’t far, but his body is so tired, breath so heavy from his previous exertions that he’s hardly got it in him to run.

The only thing that spurs him onward is the sounds of the jungle. He can’t _see_ anything around him, but there are sounds coming from the surrounding forested area that sends chills up his spine and make his stomach coil in knots. Somewhere in the distance, somewhere he hopes is actually far away from him, but that feels so very close, he can hear purring growls and clicks. And god almighty, if those little bastards were any indication of the kind of life that’s on this island, he certainly doesn’t want to find out what other things might be calling out from the shadows.

He sprints up the front steps of the compound, eyes falling on the large sign hung on the door that reads “ **InGen: Central Operations and Development. Keep Out.** ” and thinks that now’s just not the time to abide by any rules.

Jean slams against the hard metal door in his rush, hands flailing in frenzied desperation to turn the handle. The relief that floods him when it turns easily in his grip is palpable. The door is heavy as hell but it seems to push open without much trouble. Jean shoves his body weight against it and forces it to open, sliding in and slamming it shut behind him.

Back pressed against the cold metal of the door, his eyes are met with nothing but an empty, dank room, dark from too little light.

The place looks abandoned…

Now what?

**::**

Marco’s got his eyes pressed against a microscope when he hears the radio begin to buzz again. He jerks his head up and eyes the machine, listening to it for a quiet moment. At first it’s nothing but static and clicking, garbled up noises that don’t even resemble any sort of message and he figures it’s nothing more than a frequency overlap. Those do happen sometimes: boats that pass by, aircraft communications, every once in awhile frequencies get crossed. It’s usually nothing more than garbled feedback, and so once the outbursts quiet back down to silence, it only takes a beat before Marco turns his attention back to the eyepiece of the microscope.

He’s spent the last hour or so looking for a certain bacterial pathogen in the Steg’s waste, anything that might explain her odd and sickly behavior, but so far he’s coming up short. He pulls his eyes away from the eyepieces once more and jots down a couple of notes in his notebook.

Marco stands, ready to grab another set of samples, when the radio begins to sound off again.

This time, it’s still pretty garbled and unclear, but it definitely sounds like a human voice is there somewhere in the noise.

 _“-yda-. -ayda-. Hel-. An--one?”_ the voice scratches through the noise.

Marco furrows his brow, stepping over to the communications desk to listen better. It’s hard to tell, but Marco could swear that whatever it is the person wants to say, they sound like they’re in trouble. He stands patiently in front of the desk, waiting to see if it sounds out once more.

But the voice doesn’t come again. All Marco is met with is silence, and so, with a tentative hand he reaches out and grips the communicator and brings it to his lips.

“Come in,” Marco starts, “This is Isla Sorna. We did not copy your message, please repeat. Over.”

Marco waits for another beat, patiently awaiting a reply, but none comes.

“I repeat, this is Isla Sorna. Please repeat your message. Over.”

This time, the response is quick. There’s static and noise at first, and a garbled bunch of clicks, before a human voice sounds out frantically from the other side.

_“Oh god, hello, can you hear me?”_

The line cuts out and Marco furrows his brow, as if waiting for more information. This voice is panicked and he feels worry growing in his chest. It’s not a sound he likes to hear. Whoever they are, they sound frightened.

“Reading you loud and clear now. Repeat your message, are you in distress? Over.” Marco asks.

 _“Fuck, thank god… Yes, uh, mayday, uh, god just, please, I need help.”_ The voice croaks out. Marco sits quick at the communications desk and grabs a pad of paper, ready to write down whatever information this person can give him.

“Copy that, just stay calm. What’s your emergency, can you tell me where you are? Over.”

_“I’m on an island. Our boat crashed, my friends might be hurt.”_

Marco thinks for a moment. Boat traffic is all but zero around here, though there is a lot of tourism at some of the neighboring islands. But the closest island to Isla Nublar and Isla Sorna isn’t for at least 90 miles… Though he supposes it’s not unheard of for short wave radio frequencies to span larger distances sometimes…  

“Roger, we’re going to get help to you. Do you know what island? Can you describe it? Over.”

 _“I don’t fucking know, it’s an island.”_ the voice grates out.

“I need to know your location. Over.”

_“Fuck it’s uh, it’s a kind of small island, maybe 45 minutes southeast off Costa Rica. Really green and grown over… I don’t think anyone lives here… Please, god, we have to get out of here… There are a lot of animals here and they seem goddamn aggressive.”_

Marco pauses once the man is finished speaking, brain churning over and over. This island is about 45 minutes southeast off the Costa Rican coast, but… he couldn’t be... there’s no way. He furrows his brow and speaks again.

“Anything else? Any distinguishing features? Where are you calling from? Over.”

_“No, it’s just… an island. Oh, there’s a name on a lot of stuff in here, like a company name or something, hang on.”_

There’s a lull from the other end, before the voice picks back up again.

 _“There’s a bunch of shit labeled_ **_InGen_ ** _around here… I’m in a big compound, or something, I guess. Looks abandoned, though._ ”

At the first sound of the company’s name, Marco stands, frantically reaching across the desk to snatch down the map that’s been taped to the wall. He unfolds it quickly, flipping over to the schematic map of Isla Sorna, and lets his eyes scan it.

Isla Nublar has been more or less populated with personnel for a while, and Marco’s fairly certain there aren’t any large, abandoned compounds on it.

But there _are_ abandoned facilities on Sorna. The two islands had been developed simultaneously, with Isla Nublar acting as Site A and the primary site for all future park operations. Isla Sorna was nothing more than Site B, and at this point, nothing more than a focal point for research. The few base operations units on the site had closed once personnel focus had been shifted to Isla Nublar.

Marco’s about to reply, but the crackle of static from the other end of the line interrupts him.

_“I think the building said... Central Operations or something like that… I didn’t get that great a look at it though.”_

“Roger, standby, please. I’m finding your location. Over.”

_“God, please, help me…”_

Marco stares at the map once more, scanning over the few facilities on the diagram before his eyes land on a grey square in the middle of the map. Located in a clearing, the central operations compound stands in the dead center of the island. It was partially abandoned due to the suboptimal location for day to day operations. Being so centralized left it vulnerable to frequent visits by the animals - especially some of the more aggressive and curious hunters, like the raptors and deinonychuses that patrolled the area.

Fuck.

“Alright, listen, I think I know where you are, okay?” Marco radios back, “I’m coming to your location. I need you to stay where you are. Do not go outside, do not open any doors, and do not draw attention to yourself in the building, do you copy? Over.”

The voice that replies is quiet and nervous, suddenly having lost that panicked sense of pleading desperation, this one seems meek and concerned.

_“...Why do I need to not draw attention to myself?”_

“Listen to me, just do what I said. What’s your name? Over.”

 _“Jean…”_ the voice replies.

Marco nods softly to himself, already mapping out the quickest route he can figure to the compound.

“Jean. I’m Marco. I’m on the island already, okay? I’m coming to your location. Just do as I said, and stay put, can you do that for me? Over.”

_“Yeah… Yeah, I can.”_

“I can hopefully be at your location in 40 minutes or so. Do you know what room you’re in? Over.”

_“I’m, uh, I’m on the second floor. I’ve got the door shut and locked right now, but it said Telecommunications on the outside… Figured it’d be a safe bet to try and reach someone.”_

“Roger that. I’m on my way. Over and out.”

**::**

Once he ceases communication, Marco makes quick work of attempting to gathering anything and everything that he might need. He’s not particularly keen on this whole thing, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. He can’t just leave this poor kid trapped in that place. He’s not particularly trained for this, and he doesn’t exactly have much of a plan. Mostly, Marco hopes he can radio to Connie and Sasha for backup, reach the kid and keep him safe, and then request extraction from the area by InGen.

He grabs a pack, his same one from earlier in the day and shoves a few sealed off food items into it, as well as some medical emergency supplies in case the kid is injured, and a flare gun. And, he has to dig for it, but he makes sure to grab the tranq gun they keep on hand for emergencies.

Marco eyes the map, still sprawled across the desk. He scans it once more, making a mental note of the best possible route. There are a few trail areas that are open for transportation along the island, but a lot of it is just jungle or plains. The fastest route will likely be to follow the D-Trail and then cut straight through the forest to the compound. Not the easiest route, but with the four-wheeler, it shouldn’t be too difficult. The biggest obstacle will be avoiding the wildlife.

Marco doesn’t really want to think about that part. He’ll deal with it when he has to, if he has to.

Pack slung over his shoulder, rifle in hand, Marco steps back to the communications desk and switches the frequencies over to Connie and Sasha’s transmitter.

“Connie? Sasha? Come in. This is Marco. Do you copy? Over.”

 _“We copy,”_ Sasha’s voice rings out in response, _“What’s up? Over.”_

“We got a problem here. Some kid is stuck on the island. Over.”

_“Say again? Over.” Sasha asks with confusion._

“An emergency transmission came through a minute ago. He says his boat crashed, his friends are on the beach somewhere, injured, and he’s stuck in the central ops compound. Over.”

 _“Are you serious or are you fucking with me? Over.”_ Sasha asks incredulously.

“Completely serious, Sash. How far are you? What’s your ETA? Over.”

_“An hour? Maybe a little less. Over.”_

“Okay… I’m going to try and get the kid. I need y’all to scan the beach. He said they crashed somewhere right off the coast and that his friends are still on the beach… Scan the area, see if you see anyone. Then I’m gunna need an extraction. Over.”

_“Wait, Marco, you’re going there alone? Over.”_

“Look, the kid is stuck there. You guys won’t be back in time, I can’t just leave him out there. Over.” Marco says defensively, looking around the RV for any extra flares or packs of tranquilizer darts.

The next voice on the line is Connie’s, suddenly worried and firm.

_“Dude, you know that area is basically overrun with fuckin’ dienonychus and compies and shit, right?”_

Marco sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, I know. I’m not exactly thrilled about this, but I’m not going to leave him out there alone. The longer he’s there, the more danger he’s in. I’m going to have my walkie on me; once you’re back, stay on my frequency and be listening for me, okay? I’ll check in with you. Over.”

A slow sigh emits from the other end of the line.

_“Copy that… Over.”_

“Over and out.”

**::**

Jean doesn’t want to admit it, but the severe feeling of relief he’d felt when he’d heard the sound of that man’s voice left him almost as soon as the line had gone quiet. There’s a whole host of things plaguing him - from his weary body, the burning sting from the wounds on his legs, the fact that his friends are still lying on the beach somewhere alone and unconscious, to the question of whatever the _fuck_ those nasty little creatures were that had chased him down to the clearing. He doesn’t even want to think about whatever had made those deep, snarling noises from the jungle that he’d heard as he ran into the building.

He doesn’t want to be alone, and he’s half tempted to simply try the radio once again, if only to hear that man’s voice once more. But he has no idea if it would even reach him - if it’s a stationary radio and the man… Marco… had already left, then there would be no one on the other end of the line. And if it’s a mobile walkie talkie, he doesn’t want to risk radioing, in case he’s somewhere where silence is the key to not alerting the local wildlife of his presence.

And so, despite the nervousness and anxiety that’s built in his stomach, Jean stays put, and stays quiet, and doesn’t try to radio Marco again.

For a few minutes, he just sits at the desk, trying to stay still and calm, but he’s growing increasingly restless. He certainly doesn’t plan on leaving this room - partially because Marco told him to, and that alone is enough to make him stay, but also partially because he doesn’t want to risk anything coming into his makeshift safe haven.

He pushes himself up from the desk and begins to hobble around the room. His legs still really hurt but he can’t just sit still. He takes the opportunity to get a good look at all the dust-covered items strewn around the room. Most are just old computers and communications devices, long since broken and degraded by rot. But along the walls are photographs, press releases, blueprints, construction layouts, and the like.

He keeps seeing that name, **InGen** , over and over again, and he can’t quite place where he’s heard it before. Jean vaguely remembers hearing it on the news… There was some controversy over their research or something, but that’s the most he remembers…

Jean shakes his head, letting his eyes scan the room.

Across from him on the opposite wall is a large map, which Jean can only assume is of the island. He steps closer to it, seeing if he can at all figure out where exactly he is. It looks like the island is more or less circular, though a bit lumpy around the edges as islands tend to be. He isn’t entirely sure what side of it they crashed on, but there are a few buildings plotted around the schematic. He studies each one, before finally landing on the central compound, that the legend labels “ **Central Operations** ”. That must be where he is.

That’s actually, kind of helpful… In theory, he could run in any direction from where he is and reach the coast in a reasonable amount of time… Again, in theory.

There’s only one other spot that really catches his eye. Near the bottom right of the map, down near the southern most point of the island, right on the beach there’s a small grey rectangle labeled **“Research, Testing, and Observation** ”. If this Marco guy doesn’t make it… that might be a good place to try to get to.

Jean sighs and steps away from the map, striding back over to the desk by the radio and plopping down.

He wishes he knew the time, or even how long he’s been sitting here. It feels like it’s been forever, but who knows… could’ve only been five minutes for all he knows.

He leans back in the chair and lets his eyes slipped closed.

Jean’s enjoying the relative quiet until a loud series of thuds and thunks, followed by guttural braying and calls interrupt the silence. He jolts up in the chair, looking around the room, and looking up quickly at the small window near the ceiling.

It’s not a huge window, and hell, from what he can tell, it doesn’t even look like it opens, but he’d certainly like to get a look outside. Jean stands and braces his hands on the desk, using it to leverage himself up on top of it. When he stands atop the desk, he’s just barely tall enough to peek over the bottom part of the window to the outside.

He isn’t sure what he had expected, but he certainly wasn't expecting the sight before him.

The gasp slips past his lips of its own accord.

On the ground in the clearing stand several large, daunting-looking creatures. They’re birdlike, almost… similar to those small little monstrosities that chased him here, but these stand at least 5 or 6 feet tall. They walk on their hind legs, their big, clawed feet stabilizing their forms, and on each foot resides a single large, curved talon. Their arms are small, but not tiny, with frightful looking claws at the end of them, and their jaws are sharp and goddamn intimidating, and he can practically feel his face blanch.  

Jean doesn’t want to think it, because it’s absolutely ludicrous, but he can’t help it. Memories of childhood books he used to read suddenly flash into his mind, images of all the toys he’d once played with, of all the creatures he used to love to write about for school essays…  these things look like them.

They look like fucking dinosaurs.

**::**

Marco is more than a little grateful that the majority of his drive on the four wheeler has been uneventful. A few compy hordes had shown up along his path, as well as a small herd of Gallimimuses, but so far he’s managed to avoid any big nasties, and he hopes to keep it that way.

But he’s quickly closing in on the compound, and therefore quickly closing in on one of the primary hunting grounds of their resident Dienonychus pack. He’s done well thus far in his research to avoid them, while still able to observe them, and he grew to understand their prowess as predators _early_ in his observation. Enough so that he had firmly come to hope to not have any up close and personal experiences with them.

His four wheeler heaves itself across the uneven jungle terrain, the compound just ahead in the clearing. Marco makes sure to slow his speed as he approaches the glade, slowing the vehicle to a quiet stop just at the edge.

From his vantage point, on the opposite side of the compound, he can see at least one... She looks small - or at least, smaller than some of the others he’s seen on this island - and for the most part she’s either uninterested in him, or is unaware of his presence. He’s hoping for both, at this point. Marco pauses for a moment.

He’s really only got two options. He knows the back entrance of the place is chained up - it has been since the personnel first left - so his only choice is to go through the front, and he’s faced with the decision of what to do with his vehicle.

If he drives it straight up to the compound, he can easily hop off, run up the stairs, close the door behind him, and get the kid, and call for a helicopter extraction. But the loudness of the vehicle will undoubtedly be enough to alert the pack to his presence, and if for some reason, he and Jean were forced to leave the compound, he doesn’t doubt for a moment that they’d be walking straight out of the building into an ambush.

His other choice is to leave the four wheeler just outside the glade, and have it sitting ready for them just past the line of trees. He could then, hopefully, sneak up to the front and get in without the pack noticing him.

But, if they _do_ notice him, Marco knows he can't outrun them.

Marco exhales quietly, making his decision as quickly as he can. He’s just gotta hope an extraction will be possible. Without a second thought, he revs up the four wheeler and breaches past the line of the trees and into the glade. The sound immediately catches the female's attention.

She doesn’t charge him, and Marco is grateful for that. If anything, she merely leers at him with peaked curiosity, taking a few steps inward as she watches him speed towards the front of the compound.

Marco can feel his heart pounding his chest. For now, he’s safe on the vehicle: he can absolutely outrun her on this. But the minute he has to stop, he just has to hope that she and her friends don’t suddenly decide to be interested in him. He’s about 10 yards away, and he's already planning out how he’s going to get off, yank the keys out, and sprint up the steps without a glance back, when he hears her start to vocalize.

 _Fuck_.

Her calls aren’t overly aggressive, and Marco isn’t sure how he should feel about it. They’re chatty calls, vocalizations to anyone who might listen, and Marco realizes quickly that she’s calling the others, alerting them to Marco’s presence. But it’s okay, he tells himself, he’s almost to the front, he just has to get to the front. Just as he pulls up to the base of the steps, he sees her in his periphery starting to run straight in his direction.

Marco doesn’t even hesitate: he flings his legs over the four wheeler, yanks out the keys, and sprints up the stairs, gun in hand. His legs take the stairs two at a time, and he slams hard into the heavy metal of the door, twisting the handle and shoving it open. He slips inside quickly and shoves it closed behind him just as he hears her low screech cry out in his direction.

Once inside, Marco fumbles with the lock, latching it shut. He’s sure that if she wants to, she could probably force the door open, but he doubts she will. He hears a thunk on the other side of the door, and he steps away from it quickly, already waiting for the second slam… But it doesn’t come. Instead, he hears her grunt and the sound of her footsteps retreating back down the stairs.

Marco sighs shakily, taking a moment to attempt to catch his breath, and assesses the empty building with relief.

Luckily, the damn place is pretty fortified. There are very few windows, except for a few small windows near the ceilings to let in a bit of light, and he knows already that there aren’t but two or three entrances to the place, two of which were chained off. So as far as he knows, they’ve only got one way in and one way out.

Now, he just has to find the telecom room. Marco thinks back to what Jean had told him, that he was somewhere up on the second floor, and he doesn’t hesitate to take the stairs and begin to search the hallways.

He finds it near the end of the main hall, its door the only one in the corridor that’s shut rather than haphazardly ajar. He tests the knob at first, jiggling it hard only to find it locked, and he raps against the metal frame softly, but he doesn’t get a response. He’s about to knock once more, when a loud **slam** erupts from the first floor, and Marco doesn’t need to look to know what’s happened.

He pounds his fist on the door, and calls out Jean’s name, unsure if the kid is even in there.

Marco can hear scrambling from inside the room, as well as scuffling and curious vocalizations coming from down on the first floor, and he bangs against the door once more before it suddenly opens. Marco tumbles inside and shoves the door closed again immediately, locking it behind him.

His brain acknowledges that there’s another human being in the room who’s probably saying something to him, but he’s currently too focused on finding something else to help block the door. He grabs a few chairs and shoves them up underneath the door knob to jam it, and pushes an old file cabinet up against the door as well.

It’s not the best… but it’ll hopefully hold them off if they decide to come upstairs.

Marco stares at the door for a moment longer before darting his gaze over to the man standing on the opposite side of the room.

The kid looks young, but not that young… college-aged, probably. If Marco had to guess, he’d say there probably isn’t more than five years difference in their age. He’s got an angular look to him, sharp jaw and features. His hair, sporting what might have once looked like a trendy undercut, is disheveled, and a little dirty, as is his skin. He’s got on swim trunks and a light grey t-shirt, both of which are dirty and unkempt. The kid looks like he’s been through hell. Probably has been, if he actually traversed that jungle from the coast on his own.

Marco takes a moment to register the look of fear and confusion on the kid’s face, and he realizes quickly that he’s looking at Marco’s gun.

Marco quickly sets the weapon down on the desk, pointed away from the young man.

“It’s just, just a tranq gun…” Marco breathes, chest still heaving a bit with frenetic breathlessness. He lifts a hand and shoves his hair out of his eyes. “I’m Marco.”

The kid nods.

“Jean…”

Marco quickly notes the blood that has caked up on Jean’s legs.

“Are you hurt?” Marco asks, his brow tightened in concern. He doesn’t wait for Jean’s answer before he closes the space between them and kneels at Jean’s feets, eyes scanning over the wounds.

“N-not bad…” Jean mumbles, “just some bites. There were these… things in the forest… Small little… birds? Or lizards? I honestly don’t fucking know… They chased me here.”

“Probably compies,” Marco says absently, fingers hesitating to touch around the wounds. He shucks the pack off his shoulders and gets out some alcohol and gauze. He dumps the alcohol on the pads, “This will sting…”, is all he says before pressing them against the lacerations.

Jean hisses at the touch, leg jolting and then calming as Marco keeps his touch firm against the flesh.

“Sorry…” he says softly, feeling as Jean relaxes his leg a bit. He takes that as his cue to dab once again at the cuts, “Gotta keep these clean. Compy bites aren’t all that bad, but they can get infected pretty easily.”

“What do you keep calling them?” Jean asks confusedly.

“Compies… Uh, Compsognathus. Scavengers, mostly, but they can be pretty aggressive in a pack…”

If Jean was about to speak, he’s interrupted by a few loud slams and screeches coming from somewhere on the floor beneath them. Marco can feel Jean physically tense.

“What the fuck is that?” Jean whispers.

Marco sighs and stands, eyes focused on the door.

“The big kids came inside.”

Jean doesn’t say anything, and that alone cues Marco to look over at him. There’s a sense of panicked confusion on his face, and Marco doesn’t hesitate to rest his hand on Jean’s shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He says as reassuringly as possible, “We’re locked up tight, it’s okay. We’re fine, alright?”

Jean meets his gaze and nods tensely, but says nothing.

“But I do need to radio for backup.”

Marco shoves a hand down into his pack and yanks out a small walkie talkie, clicking it on and to the appropriate channel. He brings it to his lips and speaks tensely.

“Connie, this is Marco, do you read me? Over.”

Jean eyes the walkie talkie anxiously, as if staring at it might somehow make this Connie person respond. But after a few more beats and no reply, Marco tries again.

“Connie, this is Marco, do you copy? Over.”

It takes a moment, but eventually, a short reply comes through, and Jean has never been so happy to hear another human’s voice.

_"This is Connie, read you loud and clear, did you make it? Over.”_

“Yeah, we’re safe. Did you see about an extraction? Over.”

_“Sasha called it in. They can get a chopper to you, but it’ll be a bit. I told them to go ahead and send it out. Over.”_

“They know our location? Over.”

_“Affirmative. They say it’ll be an hour or so though. Over.”_

Marco grimaces a bit, unhappy at the thought of having to wait it out here for an hour with an entire pack roaming the inside of the compound, possibly looking for them.

“Okay. We’re locked up in the Com room right now. A goddamn Deinonychus pack fuckin’ busted in after me, but we’re safe for now. I think we’ve got roof access from here though.”

Marco pauses for a second and eyes Jean, who’s staring back at him expectantly.

“Did you look around the coast yet, Con? Over.” He finishes.

_“Yeah, we’ve checked about half the perimeter now. Over.”_

“Any sign of any others? Over.”

_“Negative… Still looking though.”_

Jean’s face visibly falls, and Marco can understand why. He shoots the kid a sympathetic look and rests a hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze.

“Okay, keep me posted. Keep your walkie on in case I need you. Over.”

_“Roger that. Over and out.”_

Marco sighs and drags a hand through his hair, striding slowly over to the desk and sitting down in one of the chairs. Jean just stands in the middle of the room, awkwardly eying this man.

“...So now what?” Jean asks hesitantly. Marco just shrugs.

"Now we wait.”

**::**

Jean waits for a bit before deciding to take a seat in one of the chairs next to Marco. They haven’t spoken much in the few minutes since the walkie conversation, and Jean honestly isn’t sure what to say anyway. He has a lot of questions and Marco seems like the person who could answer at least half of them, but he hardly knows where to start, what to ask, or even if he should ask.

It seems too insane, too off the wall, and he’s almost afraid that if he asks the one thing he wants to ask, it will earn him nothing but a scoff and an eyeroll.

And so instead, he sits in silence next to this man, and waits for help to come.

Jean has to admit, Marco is a lot younger than he thought he would be. From their radio conversation earlier, he had pegged this as someone in the late thirties, some grizzly outdoorsman… He hadn’t expected to be greeted with someone like this… mid to late twenties, if he had to guess, with a young face, splattered with freckles and tanned from the sun, and eyes so big and dark they could swallow you whole.

I suppose what he’s trying to say is he hadn’t exactly expected this to feel like Prince Charming coming to rescue him, the Damsel In Distress, apparently. But here they are.

Jean wants to break the silence, but ultimately, it’s Marco who does.

“How’d you get here?” He asks curiously, turning his chair to better face Jean.

Jean just shrugs.

“My idiot friends, mostly…” Jean pauses, but Marco says nothing, staring at Jean as if he expects further details. Jean clears his throat, “My roommate, Reiner… his family has a house in Costa Rica… He and his boyfriend are… kinda nutso. But they come out around here to wakeboard and waterski all the time, apparently. I tagged along.”

Jean shrugs and pulls his legs up onto the chair, pulling his knees in close to his chest, before he continues.

“I don’t really know what happened, but our boat hit something… I guess some shallow rocks, I dunno. We crashed, and I hauled their heavy asses to the shore, but they didn’t wake up… I had to get help so I just… started off in any direction away from the shore. Probably kind of stupid, I know, but… I didn’t know what else to do.”

Jean looks away, pointedly staring at a spot on the floor and doing his best to ignore the noises coming from the level beneath them. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Marco shake his head a bit, before his hand rests tenderly on Jean’s shoulder, just where Jean’s neck begins to curve. His fingers splay softly against Jean’s neck and Jean lets himself take comfort in it.

“It’s okay… You did well. There’s no right answer in situations like that. You took care of your friends, and you found help, that’s what matters.”

Jean nods but doesn’t look up.

“We’ll find your friends, Jean.” Marco adds. “Things will be okay.” Marco pauses for a moment before clearing his throat and speaking, "Pretty brave of you... to head into that jungle on your own. You did well."

Jean smiles a bit at that and nods again.

“Yeah, okay.”

At that, Marco drops his hand and reclines back in his seat, body turning slightly away from Jean once more. And that’s that.

The two of them sit in silence for a while longer, and frankly, Jean still doesn’t know how much time has passed. In this room, he seems to lose track, and each minute feels like an eternity. He wants to feel safe, but he just can’t relax, sitting and waiting for extraction, listening to the sounds of whatever the hell is roaming the halls beneath them. He doesn’t want to ask why he and Marco can’t just leave the same way Marco came in…

He knows he shouldn’t ask, but he can’t hold it in any longer.

“What are those fucking things?” Jean whispers into the silence of the room. Marco looks over at him.

“What? Downstairs?”

Jean nods.

“Like… I know I’m going to sound goddamn crazy if I say this but…” He mutters quickly, sentence trailing off.

“But…?” Marco probes further and Jean sighs.

“They look… they look like goddamn… dinosaurs.”

He whispers the last word, almost as if he’s afraid to say it, afraid to even imply something so ridiculous. And he isn’t all that surprised when his question is met with nothing but a hollow laugh chortling from Marco’s chest.

But what Marco says next catches him completely off guard.

“Well,” the brunette starts, “You aren’t wrong.”

Jean’s head jerks up, eyes focused on Marco, still sitting relaxed and calm in the dusty old office chair.

“Excuse me?”

“Look, Jean. It’s kind of a long spiel, but long story short, the critters are what they are, and I’m here doing research for the company that made 'em…”

“...InGen?” Jean asks, and Marco nods, and Jean just clears his throat. "Are they, uh... aggressive?"   
  
Marco chuckles softly, dragging a finger across his brow and he bobs his head a bit with a grim little smile on his face.   
  
"Ehhh... yeah. Yeah, those are... Big pack hunters... Curious and pretty fearless, so..."

Jean’s about to ask more, because he’s full of questions, the first and most prominent of which being _“how the hell is this even possible?”_ the second of which being  _"are they hunting us?"_ , but before the words can leave his lips, a loud **BANG** sounds out from somewhere outside the door, and it sounds a hell of a lot closer than if it were coming from the first floor.

He and Marco stand up immediately at the sound, chairs pushing back behind them, both sets of eyes trained on the door, and listening for anything else. A series of vocalizations and calls rings out down the hallways of the second floor, and Marco knows almost immediately that they’ve made their way up. He’s not entirely sure if they’re looking for them or not, because while they might not be the smartest creatures around, they certainly aren’t stupid, and it isn’t beyond them to partake in group tracking of prey, and frankly Marco doesn’t want to wait around to find out.

Without a second thought, Marco stands up on top of the desk and presses himself up to try and get a look out of the small window. It’s probably big enough for them to fit through, because exiting through the door is not an option at this point. He presses his face against the glass as best he can, scanning the surroundings until he sees an access ladder to the right on the side of the building.

If he and Jean can get out the window, they should be able to simply climb the ladder - whether it be up to the roof for extraction, or down to the four wheeler to hopefully haul ass out of there and back towards the coast.

“Jean,” Marco says, flinging his arm back, “hand me my gun.”

Jean doesn’t hesitate, grabbing the gun off the desk and passing it to Marco swiftly. Marco gestures for Jean to step back some, and Marco does the same, turning his head away as he uses the butt of his gun to bash at the glass of the window.

“The fuck are you doing?!” Jean demands, but Marco doesn’t answer, throwing the butt of his gun into the glass once again.

It takes a few tries, but eventually, the window cracks and shatters, and he proceeds to scrape the edges of any remaining shards as best he can. He turns back to Jean and reaches his hand out to him.

“Come on,” he instructs.

Jean takes his hand and Marco hauls him up on top of the desk.

“We’re going out the window.”

Jean wants to ask why, but honestly, he already knows the answer. The vocalizations of the animals have grown closer with each passing moment, and Jean is astutely aware that those firm, determined footsteps are closing in on their room rapidly.

Jean nods to him, just as a loud thunk sounds out against the door of their room. Marco and he both startle at the sound, and Marco doesn’t waste another moment, gesturing for Jean to go first.

“I’ll hoist you, go on!”

Jean grips his shoulder as Marco grabs his waist, lifting him up with a grunt just enough so he can get his arms through the window.

It’s a tight fucking fit, _really_ fucking tight, but luckily there’s a small ledge he can grab onto. His fingers grip as best they can, and he tells himself to just ignore the small, remaining slivers of glass that are catching on his shirt and skin, leaving tiny lacerations in their wake. He focuses instead on simply hauling himself out as Marco gives his legs support.

Once he’s out, the ledge he’s standing on feels significantly more narrow, but it’s wide enough for him to stand, at least. He sees Marco’s arms reach through the gap; he passes the gun and the backpack through first, handing it off to Jean before his fingers attempt to grip the ledge as best they can. Jean doesn’t hesitate to reach in and grip the other man’s shoulders, providing as much extra help as he can.

Marco groans as he wedges his way through, those same slivers of glass digging into Marco’s tanned flesh as he wrenches himself out of the narrow gap. Once he’s out, Jean can do nothing but wait for him to take the lead, unsure of where he needs to go or what he needs to do. Marco presses back against the building, trying to stay as far away from the ledge as possible, his arm reaching out in front of Jean to hold him back from the ledge as well.

Jean tries not to think too much about it - this is honestly not the time to be thinking about how handsome this man looks or how caring he seems to be. Hey, they do say that survival situations are aphrodisiacs, right?

Jean shakes his head, refocusing himself, and he watches as Marco glances around the sky and out at the horizon frantically.

“Gah, fuck…” He grumbles, fumbling in his pack for his walkie. “Connie? Sasha? Do either of you copy?”

 _“Reading you. Over.”_ A feminine voice replies.

“How far is the fucking chopper?”

There’s a pause before she replies.

_“Thirty minutes. Why? Is something wrong? Over.”_

Marco doesn’t reply. Instead, he leans back down to glance back in the room they just left. Loud thuds are pounding on the door, the chairs and file cabinet blockade inching forward with every bang and slam, and he knows they don’t have time to wait around.

Marco takes a moment to lean forward a bit, scanning the ground below for any signs of life. So far, it looks empty, and at this point, he doesn’t know if they have time to just wait around on the roof for a chopper. There’s other roof access points, and if the Deinons can find their way into the compound and telecom room, he’s sure they can figure their way up to the roof too. He doesn’t want to, but at this point, they’re going to have to take their chances getting to the four wheeler.

Marco turns his attention to Jean.

“Jean, listen to me.” Marco says lowly, “We’ve gotta get down to the four wheeler. We get on it, we ride back to the coast, no problem, okay?”

Marco leans forward and points down to the ground. The four wheeler sits some thirty feet from the base of the access ladder.

“You see it?”

Jean nods wordlessly.

“Right now, they’re all inside, okay? We’re gunna go down the ladder, sprint for the four wheeler, get on, and go. They can’t outrun it, alright?”

Jean shakes his head, because no, it's not alright and he absolutely doesn’t want to do this.

“We have to, okay, I’ll go down first. Once we’re on the ground, just take my hand and run, okay? Do you trust me?”

Jean grimaces but nods hesitantly none the less.

“Yes…”

“Let’s go.”

With that, Marco grabs Jean’s hand, stepping around him and pulling the two of them towards the access ladder. From behind them, Jean can hear loud, aggressive calls and screeches, as well as banging and thudding around in the room they just left. He takes a modicum of comfort in the fact that he’s sure those big things can’t fit through that window.

Marco doesn’t say anything, but as they get to the ladder, he shoots Jean a look and nods, descending quickly and quietly. Jean has no choice but to follow suit.

The moment Jean hits the ground, Marco’s hand grips his tightly and they’re off at a sprint. Marco’s legs are a bit longer than Jean’s, not to mention the ill-fitting shoes, and the aching in his fucking calves, but there’s a scourge of adrenaline pumping through him, and Jean has no choice but to keep up.

The run itself is short, but it feels like an eternity. The four wheeler stands like a beacon ahead of them, and Jean can see that Marco already has his keys out, jingling as he clings to them and his gun in one hand, Jean’s hand in his other. They’re almost there and Jean can feel relief flooding him as they close in on the vehicle.

But as they approach, a loud screech from his left twists his stomach in knots. As he runs, Jean glances up the steps towards the entrance, only to see two large creatures at the top of the stairs, quickly descending and closing in on them. His feet fumble a bit, but Marco doesn’t let him slow. With a wrench to his arm, Marco tugs him forward, shouting back at him.

“Come on, get on!”

Marco flings himself on top of the machine, throwing the keys in the ignition, as Jean attempts to get on behind him. The goddamn things are almost to them and another one rounds the corner with a deep, hostile growl. But Marco doesn’t hesitate. As the things close in, Marco revs the four wheeler and takes off, steadily pulling away from the approaching animals. Jean clings to him, hands glued to Marco’s waist as they speed off towards the jungle.

Jean doesn’t want to turn around and look, too afraid that he might see large jaws and beaded eyes sprinting after him at full speed. He opts instead to press his face against Marco’s back, arms clinging to this man with everything that he has.

Jean only looks back once they cross the line of trees. The animals seem to slow at that point, the group suddenly branching off and disappearing from his line of sight, and Jean honestly doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not. His fingers dig into Marco’s hips, clenching at fabric and flesh and whatever he can as the four wheeler begins to slow a bit, attempting to traverse the uneven terrain in front of them.

Eventually, the path before them begins to even out; thick, rough underbrush giving way to gentle dirt and Marco picks their speed back up. They cruise easily for a few minutes before Jean decides to speak.

“You think they’re gone?” He asks into Marco’s ear. He feels Marco shrug against him and shake his head slowly.

“Wouldn’t bet on it.” He shouts back, so Jean can hear him over the sound of the engine. “Deinonychus is a better plains hunter... They work a lot better together on even ground with high grasses, but they’ll still track and hunt on rough terrain. We’ll outrun them on this, but it’s best we get back as quick as possible.”

Jean nods and Marco waits a beat before he speaks again.

“Just… hold on tight, okay?” Marco says. And Jean nods again, allowing his arms to slide around Marco’s waist a bit more so he can hold him more tightly. He presses his face against Marco’s back and hangs on for the ride, for however long it might last.

This day has been horrible; he’s fucking scared out of his mind, worried for his friends, and utterly fucking confused about a _lot_ of things… but, if he’s honest… this part isn’t so bad.

**::**

He doesn’t know how long it takes, but eventually, Jean begins to hear the sounds of the ocean once again. He lifts his head from Marco’s back to look around, eyes landing on the almost monolithic wall that stands out boldly against the approaching beach. He furrows his brow, and opens his mouth to ask Marco where they’re going, but before he can speak the words, a loud screech calls out from somewhere behind him.

It’s enough to get both his and Marco’s attention, and Jean flings his gaze back to find the source of the sound.

They’re a ways behind them yet, but it’s unmistakable: the pack has trailed them, and is steadily closing in on them.

“Must go faster.” Jean says in Marco’s ear, head flinging back to watch the approaching group. “Must go faster!” He emphasizes once again, and Marco nods, revving the engine up as much as it can, surging the four wheeler forward with a lurch.

They’re almost to the break in the trees, almost to the beach’s sand.

Once the four wheeler hits the new terrain, it struggles, tires digging into the sand and stuttering in it. Marco, always so quick to judge and move, jumps off it in an instant and grabs Jean’s hand once more. He drags the two of them forward at a sprint across the sandy beach. Jean doesn’t want to, but he dares a glance back, watching as three members of the pack surge past the trees in pursuit of them.

Marco urges him onward, pulling him straight into the solid metal gate. He fumbles at something, holding a small card up against a metal pad on the door, and it beeps and flashes green before lurching open. Marco hauls them in and slams it shut behind them, but doesn’t stop, pulling Jean through yet another gate.

He slaps his hand against a large grey button on the inside and a third, more fortified gate begins to lower slowly over the entranceway. It’s only then that Marco releases Jean’s hand, bending over with his hands on his knees and gasping for air. Jean pants right along with him, but can’t seem to take his eyes off the pack that hovers just beyond the gate, chirping and crying out in obvious frustration.

“It’s okay…” Marco breathes through his pants, “They can’t get through.”

Jean simply nods, and says nothing. But he doesn’t even think before he reaches out to take Marco’s hand once more, if only for reassurance.

**::**

Jean’s never been a big adventurer, despite his love of travel, and he’s absolutely considering putting this as the number one reason why.

Once inside the facility, Marco takes Jean to an RV filled with medical supplies, set to mend whatever injuries Jean might have sustained. But surprisingly, aside from a few cuts and bruises, he’d come out relatively unscathed.

Jean insists on at least tending to Marco’s few scrapes, despite the other man’s protestations. Marco eventually agrees with nothing more than a quiet chuckle.

As Jean’s fingers dab alcohol against a scuff across Marco’s forehead, Marco does his best not to hiss, opting instead to pull out his radio. He brings it to his lips and speaks into it breathily.

“Connie, Sasha… Come in, do you read? Over.”

 _“Marco??”_ Sasha replies almost instantly, _“Oh thank god you’re okay, what happened, where are you? Over.”_

“Had to duck out. Couldn’t wait for the chopper. We’re okay, Sash. Over.”

_“Where are you? Over.”_

“Back at base… Had to outrun a fuckin’ pack of Deinons… They don’t usually come out this far, but hey...” Marco pauses, glancing up and locking eyes with Jean as he applies a bandaid gently to Marco’s forehead “Any luck with Jean’s friends? Over.”

_“Yeah, we got ‘em. They’re up… Really disoriented… Pretty banged up too, one might have a fracture. But otherwise they’re fine, we’ll be back in a minute. Over.”_

Marco keeps his gaze on Jean, speaking once more into the radio.

“See you when you’re back. Over and out.”

Marco sets his walkie down on the desk quietly, lowering his eyes from Jean’s, and letting the other man tend to the cuts along his face and arms. Jean works in silence for a bit, before he softly clears his throat.

“...So uh… I’ll be honest, that was some pretty Action Hero-y shit today… What uh, what exactly was it you said you do?”

Marco chuckles and exhales lowly.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’m a paleontologist?”

**::**

It takes a while, but Connie and Sasha eventually return to the base with Reiner and Bertholdt in their boat. Marco and Jean wait for them on the shore, and as they approach, Jean can’t help but dart down into the surf to greet them. He flings his arms around Bertholdt and then Reiner in firm hugs, happy and relieved to see them up and moving.

The six of them talk briefly about what will need to be done from there out - Connie mentions that they’ll have to report the incident to the Costa Rican authorities since they technically have jurisdiction over the area, and that InGen will likely follow up with them and their families regarding the accident and the island. But Sasha makes sure to remind them that their main priority is getting the three of them back to the mainland and to a hospital to assess any injuries they might have sustained. Reiner’s parents are contacted, and are nothing but relieved to hear of their son’s safety.

Eventually, it comes time for them to leave. Connie offers to take the three of them back to the mainland before it’s dark, and while Reiner and Bertholdt are more than ready to go, Jean finds himself hesitating before agreeing to go.

He watches as Connie, Reiner, and Bertholdt load up in the boat, but he remains for just a moment longer, standing on the shore next to Marco in relative quiet.

There’s a lot Jean wants to say, and a lot he wants to ask - and he’s sure there’s a lot he’s probably going to learn in the coming weeks once he hears from this so-called InGen group… But he mostly wants to hear it all from Marco.

And if he’s honest, he’s not entirely sure he wants to go. At least, not right now. 

All in all, that seems a little silly, and frankly, there’s a good chunk of him that literally cannot wait to be as far away from this island as possible. But there’s another part of him that wants to stay, to talk with Marco, to learn him, to grow fond of him. Because, he owes this man his life… and like it or not, Jean already can tell he feels more than just a little fond of Marco.

But he has to go, and he knows as much.

Reiner waves at him, gesturing for him to come and board the boat with them so they can go home, and Jean simply nods and begins to stride down towards the boat. He only stops as Marco's hand reaches out to grip his bicep, stopping him for a moment.

Jean pauses and turns his gaze back to Marco, who simply smiles a gentle smile at him.

Marco steps forward into the surf beside Jean, water licking at his toes. He looks at Jean for a moment, before extending his hand out with a small card.

“Here’s uh… Here’s my contact info. In case, I dunno, in case InGen, or whoever wants to… ask you about me.” Marco says with a shrug, and Jean just smiles and takes the card from him.

“Thank you.” He tells Marco.

“And if you ever feel like, I dunno, visiting the island when it’s not, you know, a death trap, just let me know.”

Jean chuckles softly and nods, before reaching out to grab Marco’s shoulder to pull him into a hug. He half expects Marco to protest, but he doesn’t. Instead, he simply wraps his arms around Jean’s waist and returns the hug in kind.

They hold it for just a moment, all too brief for Jean’s liking, before they separate, and Jean mentally acknowledges that it’s time to go.

“Thank you, Marco…” He says again, and he can only hope Marco knows what all he’s thanking him for. He’s thanking him for answering his call, for coming for him, for looking out for him, for leading him to safety...  He’s thanking him for being so kind and so selfless along the way. Jean doesn’t know if this is just what paleontologists do, but he feels like this is just how Marco is. Caring and gentle and selfless when it matters.

He wishes he could know him better.

“Thank you.” He tells Marco one more time, and he just hopes Marco understands.

Marco smiles and takes Jean’s hand, holding it for a brief moment, before he lets go and steps away. Marco simply nods, as if silently ushering Jean onward, and Jean understands.

He steps away without another word, making his way to the boat with nothing but a terrible day, a good man, and a phone number on his mind.

Jean doesn’t mean to, but he smiles.

 

**::**

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not 100% sure how I feel about this, but it was certainly fun to write! I really hope my recipient and everyone else enjoyed it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, y'all. 
> 
> And as usual, y'all can find me on [my tumblr](http://commodorecliche.tumblr.com).


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